He laughed, still remembering the way she’d yelled at him out in the forest. That wee lass had screamed at him to wash his hands before he touched his injured brother. And she’d made the same demand of everyone who cared for his niece and nephew.
It had left a lasting impression on him, if only because his brother had lived, and his niece and nephew had flourished. The first time he’d seen his nephew walk with his faithful wolfhound Growley at his side, trained to catch him whenever he fell? It was one of the few times in his life when his eyes had misted.
Most of the others were directly related to his wife, the only woman who’d bested him in an archery contest in full view of the entire clan.
“Just luck, Gwynie,” he mumbled to himself, thinking back on that day. He knew it hadn’t been luck—it had been pure skill…and one other thing.
How her arse looked in those leggings.
Avelina came out of the cave and yelled, “Please bring water so I may wash up.”
Cailean called out, “I’ll check the perimeter.”
Even though he really didn’t need anyone to help him travel with Avelina, he’d asked Cailean and Sorcha to travel with them. They’d met up with them last eve shortly after they’d left Drew heading toward his land. He liked having the two around, it was that simple.
“You do that, MacAdam. Finally, you’ve found a way to be useful,” he retorted, smirking. He loved the boy as if he were his own, but he’d never let him know. He and Sorcha had gifted them with three grandbairns, and one was a wee golden-haired lass just like her mother. Gwynie was home watching over the castle and the grandbairns. While Avelina insisted that she didn’t need protection since she carried the sapphire sword, he had a difficult time believing that. Erena had said it was his job to protect and escort her, so he did that the best way he knew. Though he’d never tell him so, MacAdam was their best warrior.
“And don’t forget to wash your hands after you pish, MacAdam.”
Every single person in Clan Ramsay had learned to wash their hands before eating or preparing food. Never mind if they looked clean. And the only reason was because Mistress Brenna had said so.
He grabbed a small basin from the saddlebag Lina always carried and filled it with fresh water, taking his time to climb across the rocks. He couldn’t afford to risk a fall at his old age. Hellfire, what he wouldn’t give to be young again. He’d be unstoppable if he could fight like he had at twenty summers but keep all the wisdom he’d gained over the years.
When he returned, he posed a question to Avelina. “So do you think I’m a dead man once I deliver you to Alex Grant and you give him the sapphire sword?”
Lina nearly choked on the piece of oatcake she’d just taken a bite of. “What made you ask that?”
“Do you think ’tis possible the two of us have been granted long lives so we could get the sapphire sword to Alex Grant when the time was right? You know I’m much older than most, and so is Gwynie. So will we both fall off a cliff once this is done?”
He looked at his sister, still lovely after all these years, though her hips had widened a bit and her hair had turned nearly white. “Oh, Logan. You’ve always been a man who loved life. Don’t shy away now. Besides, Gwyneth wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
“Gwynie’s younger than me,” he said, pacing a bit. “Never mind. The sword will help you sense the evil coming for the Scots, aye? Tell me what you feel.”
“I don’t feel anything yet.”
“But you will?”
“Aye, I expect so. I did before. And you may feel it, too, once we are closer.”
“’Tis probably the English. Do you not agree? They’ve been bothering us for years. They’ve finally gotten out of control, so Erena has sent someone to save the Scots. ’Tis the reason we’re here, I’m certain of it.” He didn’t give her the chance to answer because he didn’t wish to consider any other possibility.
“Except it may not be the English. When I had it before, I was called upon to stop one person. Mayhap ’twill be the same this time.”
The two stared at each other for a moment, considering all that had transpired, then Logan shook his head.
“I better awaken Sorcha.” His daughter liked to sleep later whenever she could. “Do you have any other suggestions before I head back into the cave and risk the mouth of the beast?” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Your daughter is far from a beast. She’s one of the most beautiful women I know.”
“Hmmph. You haven’t seen her in the morn lately, have you?”
He headed into the cave, then returned a few moments later after awakening his daughter.
“I tell you what, Lina. I may not be a seer, nor do I have a special connection with the fae, but we are nearing the evil. I can feel it.” His voice dropped and he stared out over the landscape, acting as if the evil person were lurking somewhere watching them.
“You see, Logan,” she said with a smile. “I thought you might sense it. Or mayhap you’re just practicing a new method of scaring the bairns.”
“True,” he said, sitting down and slapping his knee. “But it does delight me to hear their screams.”
He stared up at the gray skies, a bit of mist visible.
“This will be a grand story to tell. You’ll see.”
Chapter Nine
Chrissa was excited for the journey ahead, especially since it promised to bring her even closer to Drostan, but a strange feeling of foreboding preyed on her. It had set in as she and the others rode away from Torwood Forest, the woods where Robert was hiding from English forces.
She wasn’t upset to leave King Robert, but it had unsettled her to watch the men in the red Grant plaids ride away, back to Grant land, and know she wasn’t going with them. It had felt as if she’d swallowed a large stone and it planned to stay deep in her belly.
She was doing exactly what she’d hoped, yet part of her felt she should be riding toward Grant land, not away.
But Chrissa did her best to ignore her misgivings. She had no reason for feeling the way she did, after all. They stopped in a clearing for a short break—Chrissa and Drostan, Dyna and Derric, and two Grant guards Magnus had insisted on sending. Dyna motioned for the guards to watch the area while Drostan and Chrissa sat on a log. She threw a quick glance at him, wondering if he felt the same sense of warning.
“You all right?” he asked, giving her a strange look.
“I’m fine, just had an odd feeling when we didn’t head back to Grant land. I haven’t been away often enough if I were to guess.”
“I had the same inkling, like we should have gone with them,” he said in a low voice since Derric and Dyna were still fussing with their saddlebags. When they finished, the two sat on a log facing Drostan and Chrissa.
“Where exactly are we going?” Chrissa asked.
Dyna chewed on a hunk of cheese, sharing it with the others. “We’re searching for any camps of Englishmen. We need to keep a count of the number we see, look for any larger garrisons, and you and I will do our best to talk sweetly to any men in their cups to get them to tell us what they know.”
Derric said, “And you’ll need to dress your parts.”
Dyna groaned and said, “So be it. Why must you always remember that, husband?”
“What do you mean?” Chrissa asked.
“Derric always reminds me that if I wish to act like a simpering fool, I must dress the part. I have a couple of thin gowns in my saddle bag that we can wear over our leggings so we can pretend we’re proper Lowland wives.” She tilted her head at Derric. “’Tis equally imperative that you and Drostan wear no colors to define yourselves as Highlanders.”
Derric waved his hand at his outfit, black on black. From the stories Chrissa had heard, he’d been dressing in this fashion since he’d started with Robert. “I never had clan colors to wear, so no problem here. Drostan, you must stuff your plaid in your saddlebag.”
“You wish for me to wear a gown, too?” Chriss
a asked, a little shocked. Of course, it wasn’t unusual for a woman to wear a gown—the only women who wore leggings were those who’d been taught archery by Gwyneth Ramsay or one of her bairns—but it wasn’t Chrissa’s preference.
“Aye, men go after women in gowns. They look more helpless, and ’tis what we want. We seek to be underestimated and thought simple.” Dyna gave a quick snort.
The word “simple” would never fit Dyna. Nay, it wouldn’t fit either of them, for that matter. “And you just talk with men, and they tell you all?”
Derric tipped his head one way and then the other. “’Tis usually not quite so easy, but if they’re deep in their cups, it can be. Edward hasn’t left Berwick yet, so the Englishmen we encounter won’t be his best men. They will join him when the time comes, but they likely don’t have the training to keep their mouths closed. Hopefully, they’ll know enough information to be useful. Chances are they spent much of their lives marauding or stealing from the English and have gotten bold and excited about the prospect of moving into Scotland.”
“’Tis nearly dusk, so we’ll spread out a bit and start searching,” Dyna said. “Though we haven’t seen any English yet, they have to be roaming about, looking for information just as we are. Make sure your dagger is handy. Hide your bow under a blanket on your horse, but keep it close at hand. You may need it.”
They mounted their horses and rode for about half the hour. Just when Chrissa was starting to think they’d find nothing, they found fresh tracks. The tracks separated, and Dyna declared she and Chrissa would head one way with the guards while Derric and Drostan went the other direction.
As they shimmied into their gowns behind a tree, Chrissa heard Drostan ask, “Shouldn’t one of us go with each woman? To protect them?”
Chrissa waited for Derric’s answer, curious.
“Nay,” Derric said. “They can handle themselves. ’Twill be to our benefit if they’re the ones who come across the English. The confrontation will be less bloody.”
Drostan didn’t say anything, but he cast a worried look her way as she emerged from the trees. A worried look that soon took on a lustful, covetous edge. She smiled in encouragement, wishing she could kiss him instead. Then they left, riding away from Drostan and Derric.
They hadn’t gone far before Dyna held her hand up, directing the two guards to stay back, and motioned for Chrissa to dismount. Men’s voices had filtered to them, loud and inebriated. English. They crept closer to the gathering, moving slowly and strategically.
They adjusted their gowns before leaving the clearing, and Dyna moved over to the burn, leaving Chrissa to follow her. Dyna splashed her hands in the water and giggled, prompting her to do the same.
Sure enough, four men surrounded them in quick order.
“Greetings to you,” one of them said. “What are you two sweet plums doing out here alone?”
“My grandsire is behind us. We raced ahead because we were overheated.” She waved a leaf in front of her face, then mopped her brow, wiping away the water that she’d just splashed on her face.
One of the men poked the other in the ribs and whispered, “Their grandsire. We’ve got ourselves a couple of treats for this eve.”
A third man shrugged. “You wish for a Scot? I don’t.” He strode away. “I need more wine.” His crooked path clearly illustrated he’d had more than enough wine already.
Dyna headed toward them and deftly tripped, falling forward, one of the men catching her before she hit the ground. “Oh my. Many thanks to you. Are you not headed for the big battle we’ve heard about?”
“Aye, we are. We’ll kill all the savage Scots before they even see us coming.”
She stopped to stare up at him, wide-eyed, her lips parting in surprise. “It would take many men to kill all the Scots, and there’s only four of you.”
The look of fright she gave them, lips forming a perfect round circle, was so convincing Chrissa almost laughed. Then Dyna slid her tongue out, licking her lips, and one of the men coughed and tripped. “Give her to me.”
“Nay, I’ll have her.”
The first said, “I’ll tell you all you wish to know, pretty lass.”
She stepped back and feigned another trip, falling toward the third man. He barely caught her, but she said, “How many…you are all so big and strong…”
He smiled, puffing his chest out a bit, and said, “I’ve never seen eyes the color of yours, and with hair that light, I wonder where you come from, lass. Are you a Scot?”
“Norse. My mama is a Norsewoman.”
“Then you’re safe. But I can’t say the same for your friends. Our king is bringing twenty thousand men to fight the Scots. We’ll pummel them until there’s nothing left of them.”
“I don’t see that many behind you.”
Chrissa repressed another urge to laugh. They were falling for every trick Dyna tossed out. She’d have never guessed spying could be so easy.
“They’re going to Edinburgh in a sennight, then on to Stirling Castle.”
Dyna rubbed the talkative man’s arm and said, “I hear King Edward is verra strong.”
Derric and Drostan stepped out of the trees with a whistle, heading straight for the English. The remaining two men spun around, though one of them tripped, the talkative man instantly dropping his hands from Dyna.
“Grandsire,” Dyna said, smiling.
The first man returned to see what was happening, and stopped to gape at the two new arrivals.
It was all Chrissa could do not to burst out laughing. And one look at Drostan told her he was having the same struggle.
“You aren’t old enough to be her grandsire,” one named Edwin said, his tone accusatory.
Derric grabbed him by the collar and tossed him into the air. “I’m her grandsire, now keep your hands off of her.”
“You’re one of those savage Scots they told us about,” the first one said.
Derric grabbed him and punched him in the belly before tossing him aside and going for the second man. He grabbed him by the neck and said, “Did you touch her, too?”
“Nay, only Edwin. I’d never touch a young lass like that.”
Derric punched him in the face and he dropped to the ground. The man squirmed up to all fours and crawled away from Derric like a whipped dog. “Why’d you hit me? I said I didn’t touch her.”
“Because I wanted to. Now get the hell out of here. All four of you.” Derric had a fury on his face the likes of which Chrissa had never seen. Nay, she had seen it before. Drostan’s expression had been similar when he’d attacked the Ramsay chieftain on the archery field.
The four Englishmen found their mounts and hurried away, never looking back.
Drostan finally burst into laughter. “Funniest fight I’ve ever seen.”
“Easiest fight,” Derric drawled. “Hedge-born lymers. Wife, you promised not to let them touch you. You know I don’t like that.”
She shrugged. “They were so drunk Chrissa and I could have felled the four of them in two minutes. Why’d you send them away? They were giving me good information.”
Derric strode over and wrapped his arm around Dyna and hauled her up against his side. “Why waste such a nice clearing? There’s a burn, a small outcropping if it rains, and a cover of pines right next to the cave. What more could we want?” He leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Sorry, but ’tis hard for me to watch another man touch you.”
“He barely touched me, Derric. He caught my fall. And are you sure you wish to stay here? They could find reinforcements and return.”
“Don’t care. He still had to pay. And we’re not leaving this place. Those fools were too deep in their cups to lead anyone back here. They’ll go a short distance and pass out, and if they tried to find their way back, they’d fail. Now what did he tell you that you’re so proud of?”
“Edward has twenty thousand men, and he’s moving to Edinburgh in a sennight.”
Drostan stared at her in shock. �
�Twenty thousand? Can we beat that many?” His gaze shifted to Chrissa, and she saw the worry in it. “I know people talked about the possibility, but I didn’t think it was truly possible.”
“How many Scots do we have?” Chrissa blurted. “Not even half, do we?”
“We’ll be lucky if we have five thousand,” Dyna said. “This will be a tough fight.”
Derric’s expression tightened with anger. “Did you not see the one yellow-bellied bastard crawl away from me on his hands and knees rather than throw one punch at me? Bloody hell, we’ll take them down easily. One Scot can handle three Englishmen easily.”
Chrissa kneaded her hands together and said, “I can’t take on three men.”
“And don’t forget we can use the spectral swords against them,” Dyna said. “My cousins will all be there to fight, although we have to hope Branwen doesn’t deliver early. We can handle that many if we use the power. The lightning alone will scare half of them away.”
“But how long has it been since you’ve fought together?” Chrissa asked.
Dyna sighed. “It has been a while, but I believe we still carry the same power. Grandsire says little about it these days, but I believe if we’re all together, and Derric allows me to climb on his back again, we can do it.” She gave him a saucy look and a wink. Everyone in the clan knew the tale of how Dyna had unleashed incredible power by climbing onto Derric’s back during a battle. It had been the first sign they were meant for each other.
Derric waved his hand at her. “And you’ll be safely hidden in the trees with the other archers. You’ll take down many English, and they’ll never see you.”
But Chrissa’s mind was still stuck on that number. Twenty thousand. When had she ever seen that many men?
Chapter Ten
Alex Grant was an old man. Beyond old. He knew his time was coming, but he didn’t fear death. Perhaps because he believed all of the dreams he shared with his dear wife were true. Some believed they were just creations of his mind, but he knew them for what they were—visions from heaven.
The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5) Page 8
